New Jersey is certainly diverse, as are our restaurants. Yet, most of our chefs are much alike in one distinct but important measure: They're New Jerseyans. Even those who are from elsewhere have eased in -- spending years here -- growing up, working. Among the rare exceptions are those who share our altitudinal gradient; they're from New York or Philadelphia.

Not Ryan.

He came to us via Australia, India, the Philippines, Canada and Hong Kong.

Most importantly, he came to us from a Michelin-starred kitchen in one of London's most prestigious neighborhoods. Sketch is really three restaurants in one, an Alice-in-Wonderland experience, eccentric and quirky but still, and you sense it as soon as you walk in, steeped in a certain incalculable British propriety. You may not know the rules, and the rules may change nightly, but the rules certainly exist.

So, Ryan was nervous when he opened Common Lot in Millburn, unsure how we'd react to a menu that was more fine dining than not, in a restaurant with communal seating that was more casual than not. Not sure if we'd like his cheeky "bag of egg and crisps," or respond to a chef whose previous customers counted themselves among the global elite in a city that prides itself on its innovative cuisine. Ryan is a cheese sommelier (yes, that's a thing) who fiercely defends the rigor and discipline and the Escoffier sauces of a French kitchen. How would New Jersey respond?

A year-and-a-half in, after New Jersey immediately and breathlessly swooned over Common Lot, Ryan, who started in the business as a 15-year-old dishwasher, remains humbled.

"We've been definitely surprised."

Common Lot remains an exotic bird. This restaurant serves no bread with dinner, offers no pasta on the menu. Why do what everyone else does? ("I can do gnocchi. I can do pasta," says Ryan. "No point in competing.") This restaurant does not have an espresso machine; coffee is French press and every order comes with a timer. This restaurant does not have a dress code. Wear a suit or wear jeans, no worries.

The space itself conveys a certain rustic beauty, clean and unpretentious, with bursts of vibrant artwork (the abstract by Melanie Simard on the wall, the Zen-like handmade ceramics by Jono Pandolfi on the tables). The menu was created to engage, with a collection of small plates meant to share, but also a collection of big plates meant to share, including a 12-hour braised lamb shoulder ($80) and a whole roasted market fish. A guest should leave, says Ryan, with a clear understanding of the abilities of a chef, even on a first visit.

Some stellar examples of Ryan's abilities include the fried chicken skins ($6), which are topped with pretty piped-on swirls of chicken liver, as if the chicken skin were a fancy cracker amid afternoon tea. This is as fun as it is rich. The grass-fed bison tartare ($18) is not to be missed, the unctuous, flavorful bison so ruby red it reminds you of tuna, served alongside pickled shallots, horseradish, capers and an aioli made of dry-aged beef fat. The tortilla chips alongside, perhaps addictively tempting on another day, here are really not necessary.

Should you recall the era of the tableside Caesar salad, you'll be delighted by the theater that is the bag of egg and crisps ($5). Witness the homemade potato chips, brought to the table in a paper bag. Witness the wobbly poached egg dumped into the bag, tumbled and then poured into a bowl, voila, each chip covered in velvety egg goo. Also fun. Also delicious.

Roasted heirloom carrots ($14) are billed by the staff as the best carrots of your life, a comment similar to remarking upon the tallest building in Tulsa -- not a sufficient compliment. These carrots boast an intensity of vinegar here, smoked yogurt there, showcasing a Middle Eastern ability to be sultry but also wholesome at the same time. Really, carrots?

Scallops ceviche ($17), by far the most pretty dish, offer scallops so fresh and slippery you suddenly feel the salt in the air. Yet, this was more subdued than necessary and we yearned for some acidic zing.

Dinners are restrained, sometimes somber. A Heritage pork porterhouse ($32) reads French, with a side of white bean cassoulet and a viscous sauce that feels not classic but tired. Arctic char ($30) comes with a genteel green goddess sauce, delicate and bright. A pristine serving of halibut ($32) is given an earthy ginger and mushroom accompaniment. Dry-aged sirloin ($35) is refined, alongside roasted fingerling potatoes and horseradish cream.

Desserts are complex sophisticates, with a number of textural and geometric surprises, as well as outside-the-box accompaniments, such as marzipan sorbet. Yet the desserts are also surprisingly unfussy. A lemon semifreddo ($10) is particularly satisfying, whimsical and silky and light. A cremeux ($14), with seasonal berries and jam, will most likely be your Instagram shot.

So now, with proof that a chef can offer precise, avant-garde globally inspired cuisine in a small New Jersey town, will Ryan, relieved, take a deep breath?

Not exactly. He has hired as his new sous chef Mark Martello, who recently returned to the States from the kitchen of 108 restaurant in Copenhagen. The two of them are giddily planning to kick the menu into another gear entirely --especially for those who choose dinner at Common Lot's Kitchen Pass (the exclusive chef's table experience).

Service deserves mention because it is commendable, with a staff of beautiful people who obviously enjoy the work but also who know the intricacies of the menu.

Ryan will tell you his experience at Sketch was the most difficult of his career, 12-hour days in a brutal French kitchen. As an outsider -- an Australian who didn't speak the language -- he had to prove himself every day. Yet, he admires the discipline, the work ethic and especially the classic French technique.

"I learned a lot," he says. "Do I need to do it again? No."

The combination explains much about the ethos of Common Lot. The attitude is modern Australia, laid-back and convivial, while the food is modern European, descended from France, but with irreverence.